Mistaken Journey

New Zealand Listener, Volume 12, Issue 295, 16 February 1945, Page 24

Mistaken Journey

ROY

SHEFFIELD

Vii. N the second day McLeod took me to visit Walter Hill, the chief cattle hand, who was temporarily established with his outfit agput 15 miles away in the campo. It was my first experience on horseback, and a deuced hard introduction to the art it was, too! McLeod had chosen for me the quietest mount available, which was thoughtful of him, and we set out soon after breakfast. The trail led out past the Indian huts and straight into the swamp, so that within five minutes of sitting astride a horse for the first time I was plunging through three feet of water. There is nothing like getting the worst over straight away, so I hung on with all I had got, and hoped for the best. Mac, always a silent one, led the way without looking back, although once he stopped and pointed to a V-shaped ripple in the water a few feet away. His horse had seen it too, and was laying back her ears, while mine showed a distinct inclination to keep going; an opinion quickly shared by myself, for if, as must happen sooner or later, I had to fall off my horse, I had no wish to do so on top of a beastly alligator. Now and again we came to stretches of dry land where we made faster progress and at such times I clutched the pommel of the big Mexican saddle with both hands. After nearly three hours we reached the camp, and for the first time my preconceived notions of wild life in Matto Grosso were substantiated. Mac had told me that Hill had about half-a-dozen men with him in his outfit, and that most of them were pure Indians. "Pretty good boys, too," he added. Good boys! In the following weeks I came to appreciate the fact for myself, but just then the description seemed about as apt as calling a man-eating tiger a nice. little pussy. Believe me, they were tough, and looked it. The crew of the launch had seemed well able to take care of themselves, but this. bunch were different stuff altogether. There were seven of them; three straight Indians, two Brazilians, one who was half-and-half, and Hill. * * + * ALTER HILL’S colourful personality stands pre-eminent in my mind. Every adventure at Descalvados was shared with him, and he made them all possible. Yet at our first meeting, until he ‘spoke, I could not pick him out from the rest of the gang. Like them, he was bare-footed, and, like them, too, his only garments were a pair of trousers and shirt, or rather the remnants of those’ articles. He was tall and skinny, with very blue eyes, cadavérous features crowned with straggling wisps of long, fair hair, and’ his whole person liberally bespattered with mud.°As he explained, roping horses in a slushy corral’was a dirty job. Maybe it seems rude to laugh at a person when one-is introduced, but

there was a whimsicality about that man which compelfed a smile at all times, and from the first handshake a bond of friendship was struck between us which never weakened. In all ways I had been singularly lucky since, leaving London, particularly in the chance meeting which resulted in my going to Descalvados, but in nothing, surely, was I more fortunate than in finding there two such grand fellows as McLeod and Walter Hill. Gentlemanly Mac, quiet and thoughtful, commanded the respect of all and must have been worth his weight in gold to old

Ramsey. As for Hill, well, you will hear plenty about him as this tale goes on. He swore he would make me a real ripsnorting cowpuncher before I left. The first lesson , commenced right away, for we went into a corral and one of the Indians threw his lasso over the head of a small calf. This was driven out into thé open, and another lasso thrown across his hind legs. The two ropes were drawn tight and hitched round convenient posts, tumbling the calf to the ground and holding him there a secure prisoner. Then one of the outfit drew his long knife and plunged it hard into the back of the salf’s head just behind the horns, severing the spinal column and causing instant death. Next he cut the jugular vein in the neck, causing the blood to flow and stopping the spasmodic kicking of the limbs, and in just five minutes there was a side of veal ready for roasting, while the hide was pegged out in the sun to dry. It did seem rather a grim way of providing a dinner, but it was all done with a neatness and

dispatch which commanded admiration, and if it were any consolation to the calf, his end was a speedy and painless one. Long sticks were skewered through the meat and. poked into the ground so that they inclined over the fire; in this manner the meat received full benefit from the flaming logs and was quickly roasted. When it was ready we all gathered round, the whole crowd of us, and in turn cut off any portion we fancied. My own particular choice was a sizzling piece of liver,‘and from that moment my vegetarian principles began to weaken, for it tasted delicious. Salt was added to cold water in a bowl and we constantly dipped our hot meat into the brine, thus serving to cool it and to flavour it at the same time. There was also a sack of farinha, the flour made from mandioca root, and the others each took a handful of this and tossed a little into their mouths before each bite. But that, I discovered, was a trick that required practice, for mine went mostly in my hair, or down my neck. There. were no tables, chairs, plates, forks, or other artificial aids to feeding, except the long, razor-sharp knives which the outfit always wore in their belts. We simply sat on the ground, held our strip of meat with both hands, and took a bite at it. And a perfectly good, natural way of eating it was, too, the only drawback being that it necessitated washing behind the ears after every meal. We sat and talked, and it was decided that I should come back the following afternoon to spend a couple of days with the boys before they returned to headquarters. So our horses were saddled and Mac and I started off home again, But long before we got there I had other things to think about besides the scenery, for six hours in the saddle on a first ride is no mean performance, and besides my aches and pains I had acquired as many nfosquito bites as a leopard has spots. * % * O football match ever left me as stiff and sore as I was the following morning, and it took an herculean effort to stoop and put my boots on. The children fished in the river after breakfast, and soon, caught sufficient for lunch. All they did was to hook a piece of raw meat on to the end of a string and throw it into the water from the garden steps. The fish bit continuously, and as soon as the line tightened one of the kids gave a quick jerk. Nearly every time they either lost the bait or else hooked a fish, though several of these proved to be piranha, which are full of bones-and teeth!-and are not good to eat. When a catch was landed the youngsters took it in turns to kill it by knocking it on’the head with a stick. Some of the bigger fish took a deal of killing, too, (continued on next page)

An account of adventures in Central South America by an English "Innocent’Abroad." He has now reached the Matto Grosso. Me OS Oe RP gt AIS LOO PRIA cL rare acs rag

"(continued from previous page) flopping about the garden in amazing fashion, and affording hilarious excitement to the bloodthirsty young anglers. At lunch, the Senhora was at pains to discover whether or not I liked the fish; * apparently one who relishes that particular dish when tasting it for the first time is supposed always to return to the spot where: he first sampled it. The same belief attaches to the drinking of yerba maté, the universal green tea of South America, a test which already I had unwittingly passed with flying colours, for its rather peculiar taste had appealed to me immediately, and I had asked for more. So, evidently, I am destined to return to Descalvados at some future date, for the fish tasted exceedingly nice and the Senhora did not have to press me to accept a second helping. After lunch one of Hill’s cattle outfit arrived to escort me back to the camp, and we got away to a quick start. Rather quicker than '’was expected, as a matter of fact, for my horse this time was a mettlesome beast and as I raised my hand to swat a mosquito he leapt into his stride and was off like the wind. Surprisingly I found that a full gallop is not a difficult gait to sit, though I did wonder what was going to happen when we reached the edge of the swamp. Two chickens and a_ pot-bellied toddler escaped sudden death by about six inches neat the Indian quarters and my mount, deciding that he would not make a Tacing dive into the water, jolted to a standstill. "Jolted" is a good word, and but for the big pommel on my saddle the first jolt would have got rid of me. The cattle-hand appeared after two or three minutes and shook his head reproviny, Perhaps he thought I meant t

‘He set a faster pace than Mac had . done the previous day, and soon we were both very wet from the constant splashing. The horses seemed to know instinctively when to avoid deeper patches of water, although more often than not it came up to their bellies and sometimes higher still. The ground underfoot offered good foothold, despite being flooded, for the long grass and other vegetation made a firm carpet and prevented the horse’s hooves from sinking into the thick mud. In the rain season flood waters come down and the low-lying country for hundreds of miles is inandated. Towards the end of January and into February the floods are too deep for horse riding and transit across country must be effected by canoe. Before this happens the cattle are rounded up from the worst swamp areas and driven to higher campo where the floods will not penetrate. This was the task upon which Walter Hill and his outfit were etgaged at that moment. At the camp our mounts were unsaddled and their backs washed down with water to keep them in good condition. It was also a good opportunity for a swim and a wash myself, an operation in which Hill joined me, and which helped to ease my aching limbs. a * * "THE camp consisted of three or four '" corrals and a shelter for the men. This was merely a roof of palm branches supported on stout poles; there were no walls, and it was entirely open on all sides. Altogether we now numbered eight and our hammocks were slung side by side across the hut. Hill showed me a

better way to fix my mosquito net, or "bar" as he called it, so that the underneath part hung clear of the hammock all the time, and the mosquitoes were unable to make contact with my fecumbent body, What a man! He was full of cheerfulness and vitality, and everything we did was the "big" event. For instance, our swim was the "big wash," our meal of yesterday had been the "big feast," and as soon as it grew dark we prepared to have the "big sleep." "What are the best joints in London City?" he demanded. I told him which were our finest hotels, and of the different sorts of people who stayed in them. "Wal," he replied, "I guess if you paid top money you wouldn’t get a bunk like this in none of ’em, so you’re better off than them folk, ain’t you?" It was a verdict with which I heartily agreed. * * SEEMED barely to have snuggled down when Hill was shaking my hammock. "Come on," he said, "open your eyes, they won’t fall out!" This was easier said than done, as a mosquito had found his way inside the net and bitten me pretty considerably across the brows. But their bites do not last for days as an English gnat bite will, neither do they itch so much, and a quick rinse at the edge of the swamp soon put matters right. It was just daylight, and Pietro, the youngest member of the outfit, had already driven our horses from the corral. Usually they roam free over the campo like the cattle, but to save time some had been rounded-up the previous day, and. our mounts were selected from these.

A hasty meal of cold meat and mate, and we were off on my first ride as a cowpuncher. The cattle in these parts are third quality stuff, not comparable with the fine beasts of the. Argentine, and their numbers ate constantly de-, pleted by disease, particularly the scourge of screw-worm. This is a tiny worm which gets under the skin, and breeds there, and once it gets a hold nothing, apparently, can be done about it. Many of the calves are poor, rickety things, and half of them do not survive. Our job that day was to locate some cattle which had been grazing on lowlying, swampy land away to the west, and to drive them off to higher ground. It was a fascinating ride. Descalvados is well within the tropics, and the sun was getting high before we picked up with the cattle. Without disturbing them we lay off a little way and drank cold maté. Then, Walter and I remaining where we were, the rest of the boys rode off into the campo and gradually described a wide semicircle behind the cattle, rounding up all the stragglers and driving the whole bunch to where we sat waiting. (To be continyed next week)